Steal the Demon: A Science-Fiction Novella by Robert Roth (free novels to read txt) 📕

to be on the hook for any favors to be named later, she told Paradox flat out, even if that meant spinning the upfront price a little higher. But they only responded with an anonymous account number and instructions for transferring the creds. A few minutes after she’d done as instructed, Kimiko received a confirmation at her public message address for a one-way, transfer-class, shuttle trip from Ceres to Davida Station, leaving in two days.

A polite cough interrupted her introspection. She looked up to see a masc-presenting individual dressed in nondescript, gray coveralls, taking the seat opposite her. Everything about them was unremarkable, from their short, clippered, dark hair with hints of silver, to their olive-brown skin with the slightly gray undertones of someone who’d never been exposed to direct sunlight. Their coveralls had the Davida Station logo printed on the right-side chest pocket. If that was Paradox, they were either the most cliché, undercover CSG agent she’d ever seen, or a brilliantly disguised hacker.

“Hitomi Kimiko?” they asked.

That was an unexpected opening line. Not only had they called Kimiko by her original last name, but they also used the archaic, Downwell custom of putting her family name first. Kimiko raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Sorry, Joe, there ain’t nobody here by that name.”

Her tablemate offered a slight smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “My apologies. Of course, you’re Yanaka Kimiko, now. But you used to be Hitomi Kimiko. Born 2307 in Motherlode on Ceres, the only child of Hitomi Ichiko and Yanaka Misaki. You sent me a message from a rented, anonymous terminal in Motherlode using a Net address that you’d gotten from your cousin, Hiruma Kenji. I just needed to be sure it was really you.”

She scoffed lightly. “And you’re Paradox?”

They nodded.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve done your homework, Joe–except for the part that I’m not from Downwell Earth, and I don’t put my last name first.”

“My apologies,” they replied, with a small nod of their head. Then they took a sleek-looking hand terminal from a pocket in their coveralls and tapped a command into it. Her own handheld buzzed in response. “While I’m good with data, I’m not very good with people.”

Kimiko reached into a jacket pocket to pull out her hand terminal and opened the waiting message to reveal an ID file that simply said Paradox. He/him. Hacker. Clever. She smiled, then put her handheld away. “It’s fine. No need to get spun up about it.”

“Thank you,” he replied, then looked at her curiously.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” she said. “I honestly had no idea what to expect.”

He looked away, taking a moment to stare at the viewport. “That’s to be expected, and it’s not unwanted.” Then he looked back over at Kimiko. “Between those who would like to employ me, and those who would see me caged, I’m a highly sought-after individual. I prefer for most people to know nothing about me.”

She imagined that was why he went to such cosmic lengths to appear so ordinary. A lot of joes in his position–assuming that there were even a lot of joes who could be a hacker notorious enough to draw the attention of Confederation enforcers systemwide–might’ve tried much more elaborate disguises. But that sort of thing often backfired, in her experience. It was better to just hide in plain sight by making yourself unremarkable enough to blend into everything around you. It was how she’d always managed to avoid getting caught on her smuggling runs. If Kimiko had seen him anywhere else besides sitting at the table across from her, she would’ve simply ignored him like every other joe in the background. The guy was pretty greased up. She had to give him that.

Kimiko looked down at her own attempt at a disguise. She, too, had gone for the low-profile look. She ditched her standard flight jacket and jumpsuit in favor of a simple pair of tight, gray leggings, a black t-shirt, and an old pair of worn-out, black, work boots. She topped that off with a work jacket with the High Orbit Mechanical logo printed on the back that she’d thrifted in Motherlode. She kept her straight, black hair in the short, choppy, razor-cut style she favored since it was practical and easy to manage. There was nothing to be done with the ornate sleeve tattoo on her right arm–the one with the old-style chemical rocket weaving through a set of stylized rocks and planets–but the jacket hid it well enough. She’d added a little makeup, too, which she usually didn’t wear–but just what she needed to de-emphasize her sharp cheekbones and make her eyes seem a little larger. There really wasn’t much else she could’ve done, aside from springing for a quick facial sculpt, which was out of the question, and completely unaffordable for the time being, anyway.

“Your disguise is effective enough,” Paradox offered as if he’d read her thoughts. “And your false ID is still secure, even if your legend is terribly thin. There is no indication that the local authorities are aware of your former identity. I checked very thoroughly before coming to meet with you.”

“That’s good to know.”

He reached into another pocket in his coveralls and pulled out a data chip. Then he set it onto the table and slid it across toward her.

“What’s this?” she asked as she picked it up.

“There are two sets of information stored on that chip. One is an early copy of the plans and schematics for the Al-Zamani Shipyard. The final plans can’t be found anywhere outside of Al-Zamani’s internal Net, but I located these on a server owned by one of the few contractors they’d hired during the initial planning phase. Unfortunately for us, nearly everything else was done in-house, from planning to construction.”

“Still, this is a pretty cosmic find.” While she didn’t have a complete copy of the facility plans, she’d pieced together the likeliest route for her infiltration based on the pieces she could find, along with a few conversations